


Weirdly Ever After...

by wolfinthethorns



Category: Jekyll and Hyde (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, spoilers for last episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinthethorns/pseuds/wolfinthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am writing romantic fix-it fic for two eldritch horrors, what the hell is wrong with me? But their love is so pure… so wrong, but so pure. I couldn’t let it go. So here is a coda to the end of the series, putting the "romantic" in "necromantic". I am, as it were, trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weirdly Ever After...

Three heartbeats, maybe four, time paused pregnant with potential, on the cusp of victory; and then a dark blur, a whispered supplication, and elation plummeted to despair as everything became red, then white, then black…

…

Black faded into grey, accompanied by a deafening ringing, and a primal relief at not being dead. A thousand years, a hundred deaths: monster, or demon, it never got any easier. The ringing faded into a tinnitus hum, and grey into red. Everything hurt, but he was whole, and definitely not dead. With some effort, Dance pushed himself off the stone floor, rolling over to sit leaning on the iron bannister of the stairwell, and waited for the room to stop spinning. This had gone very badly wrong, he knew that much. Icy dread gnawed at his insides; fighting through it, he opened his eyes. Hyde lay face down, unmoving, unbreathing, and between them the scorched, smashed shards of the calyx, surrounded by a pile of greasy black ash that had been the heart of Lord Trash. Cold dread collapsed into a yawning chasm of despair and rage. _All this work, all these decades of planning, wasted! Ruined! All because he had to fucking grandstand! He was an idiot, such and idiot…_ Scant hours ago he had felt like a god, now he felt two inches tall. Lashing out in frustration, fist met stone, and the pain of defeat was momentarily replaced by physical pain, jarring him to his senses. The battle was lost, the commotion must have attracted attention, Keres would have sensed the loss; it wasn’t safe here, he needed to get Fedora and…

_Oh._

_Oh no._

He wobbled to his feet, still reeling from the explosion, and stumbled dazed down the stairs. Bodies littered the laboratory floor, but Dance could only see one, and now his heart burned and shattered too. 

_Oh no no no please no._

He fell to his knees beside her, gently slid the pistol she still clutched from her slender fingers, and scooped Fedora’s limp form into his arms. “Oh my darling,” he murmured, not caring that there was no-one to hear, “Oh my brave, cunning, devoted Fedora, what have I done to you?” A thousand years, a hundred lovers, this never got any easier either. And this one, oh she had been different, still fragile and mortal but somehow so much more than that. He’d been wrong: she hadn’t been like him, but she understood.

“We are parted too soon, my love,” he whispered. A tear slid down his cheek, splashing on her dress and turning green cloth to black, as the loneliness of centuries welled up inside him. “You should have been my queen, you know, when this was won. It would still not have been long enough but I…” his voice cracked as he fought back a sob, “I still would have had so much joy sharing a lifetime with you…”

_Sharing a lifetime…_

_Sharing a life…_

Of course, it was so simple, so very simple, and he couldn’t suppress a laugh at the realisation. Wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, he spoke aloud to marshal his thoughts, “For goodness sake, Dance, you’re a _demon_ , pull yourself together, you bloody romantic fool.”

They say that when Pandora opened the box, after all the horrors had escaped into the world, the last thing to emerge was hope, and now hope fluttered, tremulous and shy in his ribcage. “You died for me, Fedora, and now I give you my love…”, and he kissed her still warm lips, the incubus’ energy flowing between them.

A heartbeat, then two, and three, faint at first, grew stronger under his hand on her chest as he broke the kiss. Had he given her enough? He still felt strong, the power of the the incubus barely drained. “Fedora? Fedora, my love?”, he stroked her cheek, and saw movement beneath her long-lashed eyelids, “Fedora, poppet, you need to wake up now… I don’t _want_ to do this alone…”

She shifted in his arms, blinked, and gave a soft, rather confused gasp that was swiftly followed by a strangled squawk and he pulled her into a desperate, crushing embrace. Dance could have stayed like that forever, but a gentle yet insistent pat on his back reminded him that this was not a valid option. He loosened his grip, but still didn’t dare let her go, not yet. Fedora gazed back at him, a look of wonder in her blue eyes.

“I was dead…”

All he could do was nod in reply.

“And you… you brought me back…” and a smile, so full of love and adoration, bloomed upon her face. Before he could answer, she was kissing him, joyful and so very alive.

Sirens sounded in the distance, a sharp reminder that they were vulnerable right now, and with regret Dance pulled himself away, and helped Fedora to her feet. “We need to go,” he said apologetically, noting the disappointment on her face, “This place will be crawling with MIO soon, or Tenebrae, and we’re not going to be popular with either I’m afraid.”

Her face fell, “The calyx? The heart?”.

Dance looked away, ashamed, disgusted at himself, “Destroyed. We’ve lost…”

“No,” Fedora smiled, and took his hand, “No. We’ve lost this battle, but the war is not over, not yet. So, we retreat, regroup, and consider our next step. But you, my love, my husband, are more powerful than you have ever been. We will prevail, together, it’s only a matter of time.”

And as he looked up at her, as his dark eyes met her cold blue, he knew she was right. Of course she was right. They had forever, now. “Yes,” he nodded, “together.”

The sirens drew nearer.

She gave him a beautiful, wicked little smirk, “So, how about we blow this joint? Literally or metaphorically, your choice.”

He couldn’t help but laugh; god he loved this brilliant, terrible woman. “Quite,” he said, returning the smile, “how about we pay that sister of yours in America a visit while things calm down? Now, where’s my bloody hat gone…?”


End file.
